


Go Slowly

by JinkyO



Series: Take My Love In Really Small Doses [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: trope_bingo, First Time, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Romance, Second Time, Trope Bingo Round 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-01-26 05:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1676414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinkyO/pseuds/JinkyO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Harold have spent a lot of time encouraging -and pretending to ignore- the shared attraction each has to the other. The game comes to an end one afternoon in the Library.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vagabond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagabond/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Out-and-Back](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1393510) by [Vagabond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagabond/pseuds/Vagabond). 



> This story is part of the best spontaneous fic collab evar, and all Vagabond's fault! Make sure you check out the series >> [Taglio e Rasatura](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1359049), [Panzo con un Amico](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1364722), [All Happiness Depends ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1388470), and [Out-and-Back](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1393510).

Harold paused his typing, flexing and stretching his fingers as he listened to the scuffle of the downstairs doorway and the skitter of Bear's nails on the floor as he loped past the gate to the top of the stairs, his tail beating the air. John bounded up the stairs and Harold froze.

Reese was... steaming. _Of course. They were on the tail-end of a mild winter cold snap and Reese had been running._ And yet...

The steam evaporated off just as quickly as he'd noted it and John was walking closer. Earbuds – _Music, not the communications earpiece?_   Harold's eyes dropped to the taller man's pocket, the bulge of his phone. In all the time he'd watched John run via hundreds of camera feeds, he'd never seen the man quite like this. After an actual run. Harold made the mistake of trailing his eyes from the phone to the front of John's running pants.

Oh. Stop it. _Stop right now._

“So, ah, what did you need to talk about, Harold?”

Harold's face grew warm and he raised his eyes, focusing on a dark, damp triangle of black t-shirt.  
Which was the wrong place to land so he kept moving up; the lines and curves of John's silver flecked scuffed neck. Harold swallowed as he continued to lift his gaze; he caught the slow upturn of John's lips and the flush of the younger man's high cheekbones until finally, Harold's eyes rested on a flutter of dark lashes, John's clear blue eyes and the crinkles now gathering at the corners.

“Ah.” Harold blinked. “I ...well this is rather awkward. I didn't expect you to run here immediately and … drip all over everything.” Harold planted his palms on the edge of the work table. “It's quite distracting.  And not at all appropriate. Perhaps you could change into something a bit _less_ casual?”

John closed the few steps between himself and the desk . “I'm not the one who's distracted Harold. And you called me, remember?” He ran a hand through his sweat damp hair. “What do you want, Harold?” he murmured as he sat down on the edge of Harold's desk, his long legs crossed. “And be careful how you answer that. A lie by omission-”

“-That's not necessary, Mr. Reese. My promise was iron clad.” Harold answered sharply before clearing his throat. “I called you to discuss some some changes I've made to our reconvening plan. In case - “

“Has Root contacted you again?” John unfolded his legs and straightened, tense, his mouth set in a grim line.

“No, nothing like that. However, as we've availed ourselves of the original plan once already, I thought it best we - switch things up. Should we ever need to abandon the library or find ourselves separated again.”

John nodded, his shoulders slowly relaxing. 

“It's quite alright. Ms. Groves has proven herself worthy of getting a reaction.” While Harold would prefer not to talk about the obviously deranged young woman who had come into their lives recently, he was glad for the diversion. “Anyway, as I said, I didn't expect you to run all the way over here. This could have held.”

“Too late. I'm already here. “ John pushed away from the work table and took a seat on the window bench to Harold's right.  Harold swiveled in his chair to watch. Casually, John pulled his knee up and unlaced his shoe. “And I'll take you up on that suggestion. Strip out of this workout gear, grab a shower and change into something less distracting for a working lunch.” He switched legs, now unlacing the second. “There is lunch, right?”

All Harold saw were long legs and bare arms. The gather and stretch of the cotton tee as John hunched forward to finger the shoe lace loose. “Lunch?”

John planted his feet wide, legs spread, hands on his knees as he leaned in toward Harold's chair. “Yeah, lunch. Proteins, carbs, maybe even a salad? You called me right in the middle of my off day routine.”

“Run, shower, food?” The damp spot just under the neckline of John's black shirt was now matched by two dark patches of sweat-and-heat-damp cotton at his arm pits.

“A run to start off, yeah. And lunch or dinner to end, depends on how the middle of the day goes.” John said with a shrug.

“And how does it usually go?” The question was out before Harold had the chance to censor himself. _Seriously, Harold?_

“Don't you know already?” John gave a meaningful sweep of his hand towards the three monitor set-up dominating Harold's desk. “I always assumed you kept tabs on me.”

"Not closely enough, it seems. Otherwise I'd already have the answer and we wouldn't be playing yet another round of, Get a Rise Out of Harold. Forget I asked, Mr. Reese.  Indian - will that do?"

"Am I winning?" 

"Excuse me?"

"The game, Harold. Am I getting a rise?"

"Again, Mr. Reese," Harold grimaced, "Not appropriate." Harold was thirsty. And there was the matter of lunch - it wasn't going to order itself.  And work, important work that needed doing today. He pushed off with his foot to recenter his chair at his keyboard. He had firmly resolved that, yes, he had very important work to be started -when John caught the arm of the Aeron chair.

"About as appropriate as whatever this is we've been doing for the past few weeks now." John gave a shy smile, "I mean... you fed me a lot of food, Harold, and, well, you know the old saying..."

"Food?!" Harold sputtered. "That's all it took?"

"Not at first, no. I like to eat. It's hard to do with my work hours, though. So I definitely notice when somebody is looking out for me and making sure I'm fed. I can read between the lines." John let go of Harold's chair, crossed his arms over his lean belly to catch the rolled hem of his shirt.

Harold's eyes went wide as John peeled the black t-shirt up over his chest, elbows and arms spanning out, the soft cotton outlining John's face for a moment,  the dark swirl of hair under his arms revealed, the pale/buff sun-stamped demarcation over his biceps and then the shirt was gone and John was standing and coming closer and, and, and.

"And I notice when you are distracted. That's no good for either of us, so let me ask you again, Harold. What is it you want?"

This was the fork in the road, Harold thought.  John was discreet and gracious, this entire misunderstanding could be explained away with the most superficial of truths and never spoken of again between them.  This could be fine. They would go on as if Reese had never asked and Finch had never answered. _But he did ask. And he was waiting._

"You. I want you, John." Harold said with no hesitation. There was more to say of course: the why and how of his want. But John was quicker than Harold, lowering down on his haunches and in the same fluid motion, leaning in to claim a kiss. Harold finally caught up at the kiss -because it was rough and raw and, Harold couldn't, at that exact moment, recall what he thought this kiss might be like, but he was sure he had not conjured this hard press and scrape of whiskers or the way John guided him up and out of the chair. Or the way John finally pulled off with a low, shuddering breath.

"I don't..." Caught in the warm fold of John's chest and arms, it was hard for Harold to clearly craft his words. "I don't intend... You don't have to..."

"Harold, I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be, and I've wanted to for a long time." 

"This is a terrible idea, John. I've thought as much since we split that dulce de leche mousse after dinner at Garden of Eden last month." Harold murmured, frowning. His hands resting comfortably around John's waist, his fingertips playing slowly through the warm rivulet of sweat channeling down John's spine.

"Absolutely awful, idea," John whispered against Harold's lips just before Harold pressed in for another kiss.

Harold mewled low in his throat when John brought both of his hands up to cup the back of Harold's head and tightened his hold on John as John arched his hips into the kiss. John's tongue insistent and sliding inside to spark and curl against Harold's. _Dear, god._ Harold pulled back, dragging his hands around to rest at the perfectly formed hand-holds of John's waist. "Slowly."

John trailed his hands from Harold's head, over the older man's shoulders and along the jacketed arms, finally stopping when he reached Harold's elbows and even then Harold thought that, unless they both stood perfectly still here, the kiss would resume and there would be no more exits left on this road.  

They stood.

Harold broke the silence. "The back room." John squeezed his elbows through the suit jacket and nodded and maybe he was trying to say something too but it came out as an off-pitch whimper so Harold nodded too. They needed to move now. Harold turned and led the way, past Bear, to the small converted office behind Social Sciences and Folklore. _Of course you would end up bringing John to the back room._ Harold turned the handle and pushed open the door. A queen size bed pushed against the far wall. A half-filled laundry hamper at the foot and an errant black striped sock just underneath. Nathan had brought the bed. Harold, the hamper, then later a small table and lamp,  the mat and 10 pound dumbbells he used for his morning stretches, and a sturdy rolling rack from which now hung with two bagged suits fresh from the cleaners.  In another corner, a standing mirror and one pair of polished, black, cap toe oxfords.

John never used the back room, preferring instead the deep leather sofa in the reading room. An arrangement that made Harold completely conscious of John across the threshold now and standing close behind him.

"You should probably lose the suit." John husked. 

"Completely inappropriate." Harold muttered, his back still to John, his fingers beginning the slow task of buttons.

"Mmhmm. We've already established that." John walked past him and Harold caught the slow sweep of his head as he took in and cataloged the contents of Harold's room on his way across to Harold's bed. 

The jacket had another button to go. His vest, five, and then the shirt. John kicked out of his shoes, sat down on the bed, and pulled off his socks.

The vest had four buttons to go, and the shirt had eight. John stretched out and watched him.

 The shirt had seven -

"Harold?"

"Yes, Mr. Reese?"

John smiled and rolled onto his back. "Never mind. Take your time."

The shirt had six buttons left. John tucked his right arm under the back of his head, snaked his left hand over his hip and under the elastic band and drawstring of his track pants. His eyes closed now, his hand moving slowly under the black stretch fabric. Harold took a step forward, and another, flicking the buttons open. The shirt was off but the white undershirt stayed. The belt, the shoes, the fuss and bother of trousers, all off and puddled at Harold's feet. Yes, John was scoring points, but there was conspicuous evidence, in the form of John's slow sweeping motions inside the constraints of his pants, that suggested Harold hasn't so far behind in the game of giving rise. 

 "I was afraid you'd change your mind." John said. "On my off days, after my run, I'm usually by myself."

"Like this?" Harold asked quietly as he leaned in to brush his hand across John's forehead and thumb over his eyelids before drawing the back of his hand down over John's stubbled cheek.

"Bathtub." John was breathing deep and slow as he pulled his hand free to rest on his stomach.

"Of course." He touched, fingertips tracing John's collarbone and down to circle around a hard, dark nipple. "We don't have a bathtub here."

John choked out a groan and brought both arms under his head as Harold climbed in beside him. His nails cutting into his palm as the older man explored the other nipple for a moment before smoothing his way down John's chest. "What do we have?"

"Hand towels, Jergens hand lotion. A change of sheets." Harold answered, laying somewhat uncomfortably on his side but close enough to nose along, to rasp his tongue over John's salty warm skin. "I'm not in the habit of entertaining guests here.

"Harold, I'm not sure how much longer I can go slow."

"I have faith in you, John."  Harold pulled the drawstring of the running pants. "Help me get you out of these."

John dropped his hands to the waistband, angled his hips up and slipped the soft pants down his thighs, over his knees and off. "Is it better if you lay back?"

"Perhaps, but this slight discomfort is worth the view."

"You won't miss anything, trust me." John shifted up to his knees and unerringly went for the top drawer of the small bedside table. As John pulled out the lotion, Harold settled himself against the headboard. While this was a better position for his neck, he was already regretting that he'd let John get up.

"What do you do in the bathtub, John?"

"Fuck, I thought you'd never ask." John dropped the bottle onto the comforter next to Harold and sat himself between Harold's outstretched legs. Facing him as he scooted closer, his hard cock bobbing against Harold's.  His limber legs circling Harold and crossed in the tight space between Harold's back and the headboard. "When it's just me, I don't need anything fancy, I'm just trying to get off, get a shower and maybe take a nap before I eat." He picked up the bottle again and popped the cap and squeezed a generous dollop of the pale cream into his palm. "I want more than that today."

"You can have almost anything you want today, John.  And as soon as we get ourselves properly outfitted, you can have everything." 

John answered him with a kiss. Slow, deep, the urgency of earlier replaced by the promise of everything.  Harold gasped at the cold hand cream, followed by the wide, warm span of John's hand catching them both together and stroking. 

 

Harold let John coax him out of his undershirt after they came. It was already ruined and using the soft spun cotton to clean themselves couldn't do anymore damage. John didn't ask him about his scars, he touched them instead.  Traced the hard, white network of scar tissue from Harold's neck and shoulder, down his flank to his hip and then he untangled himself so that he could make the return trip by kiss.  They would need the shower afterward, and definitely food, but for now, Harold was content to lay with John, kissing, stroking,  inhaling the heady scent of sweat and sex and cherry-almond lotion. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lie back. This is something I learned my first year at MIT.” Harold pumped a thick dollop of the cream into his palm as he spoke. “I suppose I would have learned it anywhere, but being Engineers, we took Princeton's idea and perfected it.”

Harold didn't have the heart to send John back out into the cold to pick up dinner and delivery was, of course, out of the question. They made do with what was on hand. Homestyle Chicken Alfredo, microwaved to perfection and served, in bed, with two hot mugs of tea.

“I'll have to take Bear out at some point,” John had said, sucking the creamy cheese sauce off the back of his plastic fork. “I can stop by the pharmacy.”

“It's four blocks away, and in the opposite direction of the park.”

“That's okay. Bear won't mind the extra time out.”

“But I would.” Harold cupped his hands around his mug as he watched John, naked, sitting cross-legged atop the sheets, his fork scrapping at the plastic tray for the last of the Alfredo sauce. “Besides, the corner drug store won't have anything we'll need.”

John's head shot up. He thumbed a spot of sauce from his lip and into his mouth.“What....what else would we need?”

“Let me worry about that. And,” Harold tipped his head down to the empty black tray in John's hand, “There's more in the pantry. You can heat up another if you want.”

“Later. I'm curious now. We are just talking condoms and lube, right?”

“Condoms, lube, other sundries, yes. 'Just'? Hardly. I'll take care of it, Mr. Reese. I know what I like.”

“I know,” John said, nodding slowly. “And you'll show me? As we go along?” He asked quietly.

“Of course.” Harold rested a hand over John's bare knee.

“And in the meantime – hand lotion jerk sessions?”

“You'd be surprised by how much you can do with a bottle of hand lotion, Mr. Reese. Why don't you take Bear out now? I actually was in the middle of a project when you came in. I should check on it and when you come back, assuming nothing new has come in, I'll show you.”

Harold didn't bother hiding his smile as John nodded quickly, unfolded himself and pushed out of bed. He picked his pants up from the floor and pulled them on. Shoes. A quick glance across the room, his socks balled sadly together under the bed.

“Top drawer.” Harold offered. “Your shirt is in the other room. And you left a jacket back by your... arsenal.”

“I thought you didn't like going back there?” John said as he fished a pair of Harold's socks from the small dresser chest.

“I don't. Bear found it and brought it to me. Along with the half-eaten hotdog in the pocket. I took the liberty of tossing the dog out before I returned the jacket.”

“The Wachowski case.” John murmured. He'd thrown out three Pepsi's and two hotdogs tailing the seemingly mild mannered case-worker around the city.

“Possibly.” Harold didn't hold on to all of the fine details of their prior numbers, he had a machine for that. Besides, he needed the space for details like these: John settling on the edge of the bed, the soft pants sitting low on his hips as he tugs on the socks and his shoes. The way John's well muscled body moves as he twists and leans in for a kiss.

“I'll be back. Don't... Don't go anywhere.” John said. Then he was up and out of the back room. Harold listened as John and Bear prepared for their walk. Heard the patter and beat of them running down the stairs and out into the cold evening. _Where would I go, Mr. Reese?_

Harold got out of bed. Rinsed his hands and face before shrugging into his robe to clean up their dinner trash and carry the matched set of mugs back to the kitchenette -A fancy word for the room behind the Research Desk that held a dorm sized refrigerator stocked with Hot Pockets, a microwave, a small sink, and a cupboard full of tea leaves, bottled water, canned goods, dry noodles and shelf stable “homestyle” meals.

They would need better food if _this_ was to be the new normal.

John had been gone ten minutes now. In the quiet of the library Harold had room to think. Of course he'd hoped that, maybe later, after the numbers – assuming they both survived that long, after, that there might be something worth perusing with Reese. They were already partners in every other sense of the word. But he hadn't planned on John... Well, on John being John. On him not only unraveling the pattern of, and meaning behind what Harold had considered a fairly low key seduction by means of hot, regular meals. He had deciphered the breakfast-lunch-dinner code and then, pressed Harold for confirmation.

John being John, because Harold would have waited. He checked on the mapping program he'd been working on earlier in the day, reran the test output and compared the onscreen results against his expectations.

Another forty three minutes passed before the scuttle and scamper of John and Bear came from the downstairs foyer. The Malinois bounded up the stairs and over to nose at Harold's hand for a moment before he trotted away to flop down onto his bed.

“We took the long way 'round. And I made a pit stop,” John said by way of apology. “Chicken Palak and Goat Vindaloo. For after.”

“Duwat's? You passed at least two other restaurants to get there.”

“I know what you like Harold.” John answered, shrugging out of his jacket before picking up the bag again. “Are you still working? Should I just go back to bed and wait for you?”

“No!” Harold said sharply. “I mean...no, I'm almost finished here...” Ah, Harold recognized that smile. Reese was teasing him, flirting, boldly. “I see.” Because, despite what promised to be a pleasurable evening in the back room, - even if all they did was fall asleep at this point, despite that, they would need the new mapper. They would always need new equipment. Bear would always need exercising, the numbers would always need their help. Despite this change in his relationship with his asset, there would always be work to be done. “Go on, put the food away then get undressed. I'll be in momentarily, Mr. Reese.”

 

John was waiting, as directed. Naked, curled atop the loosely drawn up comforter, facing the door. Waiting. Beautiful under the soft lamp light of the room as he stretched out, eyes following Harold into the room. Watching as he closed the door then shouldered out of the thick robe, stepped out of his worn leather slippers and down onto the bed behind John, fitting himself into the hard curves of the younger man's body.

They didn't speak for a long while.  
Instead, they touched.  
Slow and exploratory caresses. Kisses and rubbing and shifting, face to face, skin against skin and finally, after the qualifying and quantifying, Harold asked John for the lotion.

“Lie back. This is something I learned my first year at MIT.” Harold pumped a thick dollop of the cream into his palm as he spoke. “I suppose I would have learned it anywhere, but being Engineers, we took Princeton's idea and perfected it.”

“I would expect anything... _.ffffff!_ ” Even though he'd watched Harold prep the cream, John still wasn't prepared for the cool slither of Harold's hand easing between his thighs. Dragging expertly over his balls and the underside of his hard cock before drawing back down; teasing one, then two fingers into the warm burrow between his sack and hole.

“I suppose you can add this to that notebook of yours. 'Good with his hands'. Which I am.” Harold swept down further, back to John's inner thighs, coating them with the rest of the lotion. “Is this okay?”

“Mmhmm” John croaked, rocking his hips up to meet his touch.

Harold smiled, of course he wasn't okay. He'd been on the receiving end of this himself enough times to know just how far from 'okay' John probably was. “Good. Now the trick, to doing this just right, is spit.”

John let out a strangled cry as Harold carefully maneuvered himself to straddle his lean hips.

“On its own, with enough friction, lotion absorbs into the skin. That's how its designed.” Harold settled himself, trapping John's legs closed tight between his own. “Spit and pre-come, that's the real lubricant.”

“Enough chemistry, Harold!” John growled, bucking upwards.

“No such thing. Now, a little help?” Harold twitched hard and warm against John's straining cock as he extended his palm forward to John's mouth. Nodding, encouraging him. “That's it, John.” Harold slicked John's spit over his cock, thickness compensating for length. “That's it,” Harold murmured as he pushed himself between John's thighs. Slow and steady and John adjusted beneath him, angling his hips a bit so that Harold could sink all the way down, balls pressed hot against his leg, his cock trapped against Harold's lightly furred and soft belly.

Harold's hip twinged in protest: this position wasn't entirely comfortable. But it felt good. John's deep kiss felt good, and his sure hands clutching at Harold's back and the deep thrust and pull and slap of them working together towards release. John came first, hot and sticky all over his stomach, Harold's stomach and as he came he clenched his thighs and that triggered Harold.

Outside the door Bear whined at the strange, new noises.

John was gentle with him after. Relaxing his grip, rolling Harold back to the mattress, smoothing his come into Harold's skin. “I was hoping you'd still be here when I got back,” John rasped, resting his head on Harold's chest. “But if you'd decided... you needed to go... I wanted to give you enough time.”

“Why would you think I'd want to leave?”

“Need. Because _once_ could be a momentary lapse of judgment, because we all get carried away once.” John tucked his knees and pulled Harold closer to his body. “Twice? _You_ don't makes the same mistakes twice.”

“This is no mistake, John.” Harold pressed the words against John's head. “But it does change things, yes.”

John caught Harold's fingers in his and pulled their hands up to rest together against his chest. “Not really.”

“It changes our...employer/employee dynamic.”

“Have I ever been your employee, Harold?”

“Technically -”

“You know what I'm asking you.”

“No.”

“So the only thing that really changes is that we're owning it now.”

Harold couldn't argue John's logic.


End file.
